The Founders Four
by White Roses and the Violet Sea
Summary: A princess, a knight, a maid, and an alchemist. Four people united with one common talent, who are going to defy the odds and cross the line that is fantasy and reality, and ultimately end up tearing each other apart.
1. Rowena Ravenclaw: Princess in Glen

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related in any way to Harry Potter. All belong to the extremely talented J.K. Rowling. Please also note that this may not exactly follow canon storylines exactly, but please read and review!**

Once upon a time there were four very different people. One was a princess, smarter than what was accepted in society; one was an aspiring knight, brave to the point that some thought he was thickheaded. The third was a common scullery maid; loyal to the ends of the earth, with a smile that could win anyone over, and the fourth was an alchemist's apprentice, cunning and sly, yet ambitious and amiable.  
Four different people all united by common talents, four people who would defy the odds of their time and cross the borders between reality and fantasy, four people who would become legends in their own sense, and four people who would end up tearing each other apart.

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"_Run, Rowena, please! Get out of here!" _

_Vortigern Ravenclaw grabbed her daughter's hand and squeezed it tightly. Desperation was in her eyes, fear. Rowena felt tears blur her vision; this wasn't fair! They did not do anything to these people! What gave them the right to come in and do this to them?_

"M-M-Mama," she stammered, sobs backing up in her throat. "I won't leave without you and Daddy! I won't!" A sudden sharpness stung her cheek as her mother slapped her. The tears were flowing freely now; the doorknob of her parent's bed chamber began to rattle violently. The sound of angry voices could be heard outside, and Rowena could smell the smoke of the torches.

"No. You will listen to me. You will leave right now. Leave, Rowena, run, and don't look back. Whatever you do, promise me that you won't look back. This is a game, honey, remember. Don't be afraid." 

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"Daddy, please?" a small girl cried, grabbing her father's hand and tugging on it. The father, a rather sturdy looking man with shoulder length black hair and a matching beard and moustache, looked down at his daughter and let out an exasperated sigh. Hengest Ravenclaw gently released himself from the grip of his six-year-old.

He knelt down until he was at her eye level, "Rowena, give me a few moments okay? I have some business to attend to, then I promise, I will play with you. Now, run along and, please Rowena, whatever you do, please stay in the castle."

Rowena Ravenclaw pouted up at her father, and with a swish of her long black hair, she stormed out of the room, fully prepared to throw a tantrum. Her father never had time for her anymore, at least not since she had accidentally set fire to a house plant the week before while in the midst of an outburst after she had been told she could not have the kitten she wanted.

Why did she have to stay in the castle? There was nothing fun to do and her mother had taken ill a day ago and she had been specifically warned to not enter her parent's bed chamber.

However, there was one thing that had caught her interest. It was a word, a word that her father had used when she had caught the beloved geraniums on fire: magic. She wasn't sure what it meant exactly, but it sounded like something out of a dream that she had had a long time ago.

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Hengest Ravenclaw was considered a king. It was not a title he had given himself, but rather it was a heading that the people of the small Scottish town had bestowed upon him. When the Ravenclaws had moved in to the abandoned castle on the hill overlooking the town, the villagers had immediately become fascinated with the family. The striking and bold husband, the fair and elegant wife, Vortigern, and young and shamelessly beautiful Rowena; the three of them had been like a fairy tale granted upon the village. The Ravenclaws could do no wrong- that was until they begun to fear the very family that they had put upon a pedestal.

It was decided that the family had to be executed. They would be burnt at the stake and decapitated, a warning to anyone who dared practice black magic in their town. The mob had settled on midnight.

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Rowena was not sure what had waked her up: the sudden pungent odor of smoke in the house, or the shouts that were coming from outside. She slid out of her bed, her tiny bare feet immediately turning cold upon hitting the marble flooring, and walked quickly over to her window. The sight outside was something out of a night terror: there was a massive clump of people outside the castle doors holding torches that were blazing with fire and she spotted three axes. Her breath caught in her chest as she came to the realization that each of the axes were for her and her family.

The castle shook violently with each blow of the battering ram and Rowena ran out of her bedroom and down a dark corridor, her heart throbbing in her chest. She reached her parent's chamber and pounded on the door, "Mama! Daddy! What's going on?" her voice began to choke as tears filled her eyes.

The door opened and she was whisked in by her mother, "Hush, child!"

Vortigern pulled Rowena over to the window of the room and wrapped a cloak around her daughter's tiny frame. She didn't bother to tell her that her father was already dead. He had been ambushed on his way home from purchasing fruits from the market and his headless body was lying somewhere in the bushes around the castle.

"Listen to me Rowena, we're going to play a game okay? We're going to play hide and seek. I want you to go out this window and run for the woods, and once you get in there, find the tallest oak and knock three times on the trunk. Tell them you're Hengest and Vortigern's daughter. Here's the catch though, you have to make it there before the people out there find you. Can you do that for me, honey?" Vortigern clutched her daughter's shoulders, taking in every last feature of the small girl. Rowena looked up at her mother in confusion; this was not making sense, what kind of game was played in the dark?

"Are you playing too?" Rowena asked. She could feel her mother's apprehension and she had a feeling that this was no game. "No, I want to stay here with you, Mama! Please! Let me stay!" Her voice rose into small hysterical shrieks. "Let me stay!"

"Run, Rowena, please! Get out of here!" She pushed Rowena toward the window and opened it without even touching the pane. Rowena gasped and looked up at her mother in surprise: magic!  
Vortigern Ravenclaw grabbed her daughter's hand and squeezed it tightly. Desperation was in her eyes, fear. Rowena felt tears blur her vision; this wasn't fair! They did not do anything to these people! What gave them the right to come in and do this to them?

"M-M-Mama," she stammered, sobs backing up in her throat. "I won't leave without you and Daddy! I won't!" A sudden sharpness stung her cheek as her mother slapped her. The tears were flowing freely now; the doorknob of her parent's bed chamber began to rattle violently. The sound of angry voices could be heard outside, and Rowena could smell the smoke of the torches.

"No. You will listen to me. You will leave right now. Leave, Rowena, run, and don't look back. Whatever you do, promise me that you won't look back. This is a game, honey, remember. Don't be afraid. Here," her mother reached up and pulled off her tiara. Sobs overtook Rowena as her mother placed the diadem among her dark curls, "Now you are a true princess. Keep it safe, my dear. I love you."

In a second her body was out of her control and she was unwillingly forcing herself through the window. Her mind kept saying no but her body kept moving on its own accord. Once again, magic had reared its ugly head and this time it was separating her from her mother. With a thud, her body landed in a small pile of bushes. Rowena clasped the cloak around her neck and looked up to see the silhouette of her mother walking away quickly from the window.

Her mother's words crept into her mind and she snuck away from the castle, thankful that the cloak and her hair were both midnight black. Rowena ran and ran until her breath became ragged and short and it was only then that she stopped.  
_  
"Whatever you do, promise me that you won't look back._"

The sounds that were echoing from the castle ensured her not to turn around, and no matter how much she wanted to, she did not look back.

**Read and Review! Oh, and if you want to read the extended version, PM me! **


	2. Godric Gryffindor: Knight in Training

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter. I'm also not sure if the King Arthur legend is real or not, so just in case it is, I really don't own any of that either.

"No, Godric, you need to parry more, you can't let me get that close to you."

The sun was being a brute that day, sending its scorching rays down on the backs of ten-year-old Godric Gryffindor and his father. The boy wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and sucked in a large breath. He glanced down at his pathetic sword and silently blamed it for his lack of talent when it came to sword fighting.  
In a flash of silver, his father's sword was less than a foot away from his face. Godric let out a small cry and threw his sword up in defense; the two met in a clashing sound and Godric found himself shaking under the weight of the sword.

"Come now, all your strength!" His father said, his own voice sounding breathless. Easy for him to say; he was about a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. "At least try to fight me back, son!"

Godric grunted under the burden and in one great heaving push, he forced his father's sword away from his face and fell to his knees, winded. He hated the way that his duels with his father ended; he would be a little stronger, but his pride would be wounded.

"Get up Godric, let's go inside the house. Your mother probably has dinner ready by now."  
Godric heaved a sigh and pulled himself off of the soil. He ran a hand through his copper hair. For some reason, he could not seem to get a hang of sword fighting, no matter how many times he did it.

"I don't think that this is going to work, father," he said heavily. "I'm not ready for it."  
Every year, the region of Britain that he lived in held a contest that would ultimately dub the newest knight-in-training. The winner would travel to Camelot and would train under King Arthur's best knights.

"With an attitude like that, you won't be ready for it. You need to have courage, Godric. You're fighting has really come along in the past few weeks." His father was always trying to be the optimist, no matter how hopeless the situation seemed to be. "Besides, you have over a month, we can get plenty of practice in during that time. We need not only work on sword fighting though, you have to master hand to hand combat and you have to be able to perform common arithmetic, and know your herbs for first aide."

Godric rolled his eyes, this was going to take longer than he thought, considering he could barely sword fight. He was decent at sums; his mother had taught him basic principals as she had also taught him what garden plants to use if one was bleeding excessively or had severe burns. No, he was worried about the combat portions.

"I just don't think I'm going to be ready in time," he said again. He felt his father's gaze on the top of his head and immediately felt foolish. He was a Gryffindor, a decent of a bloodline that his father was deeply proud of.

"I was going to wait to tell you this, but I think that it may give you a little more confidence, Godric," his father said softly. They stopped walking. His father suddenly unsheathed the sword at his side,  
Godric eyed it warily, hoping that his father was not going to suddenly ambush him in a surprise attack.

His father's sword had been the apple of Godric's eye since before he could remember. The hilt was encrusted with rubies and gold foil; it was so beautiful that he could not imagine wanting to slay something with it to save the blade from getting stained with blood. The name, _Godric Gryffindor, _was engraved in the blade, going downwards vertically from the hilt; his grandfather's name.

"Your grandfather Godric gave me his sword to use when I competed in that tournament, and I think that it's time you got used to it, because this is the weapon you're going to be wielding in battle, son." His father held out the sword and Godric took it hesitantly. It was heavier than his training sword and he began to worry that he would not be able to hold it up for very long without exhausting himself. The moment his hand touched the hilt, he felt a strange energy surge through him and all of his weariness seemed to be absorbed by the sword and replaced with power. He touched each ruby individually and ran a finger down the engravement of his grandfather's name. The sword felt so…right, in his hand, it also felt an incredible deal lighter. He looked up at his father, confused.

"It feels different already," he murmured. A word was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't seem to say it, it was a word that he had only heard every so often in passing, usually when he was listening in on his parents' late night conversations. "Magic."

"Yes, Godric, magic. Magic runs in our veins, you must understand; your grandfather didn't tell me until much later in my life and by then I had lost most of my abilities. That sword will only display the qualities of its enchantment when it's in the hands of a Gryffindor, or a descendant of a Gryffindor. That's why it feels lighter to you when you hold it; however, to any other person it would feel like dead weight that would be no use in battle to anyone. "

"So that's how you are able to fight with it so easily," Godric breathed. "Why did grandfather wait so long to tell you, though?"

"He didn't want me to make magic my life. He wanted to experience a normal childhood and grow up as a common person. There are times when I loathe him for not telling me and times when I am relieved that he didn't."

Godric's head was spinning. His lack of self esteem had made his father tell him a secret of his family; one that he had not been completely aware of. Of course, there were times when he suspected something: like the times when his mother would peel a bushel of potatoes in record time. He sheathed the sword and tied it around his waist. The holster adjusted comfortably to his hips.  
This was definitely something that he was going to have to get used to.

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A few drabbles from me:

I know that this may not be exactly canon, but I'm taking the classic story of the founders and giving it my own special twist! So please read and review and constructive criticism is always welcome!

Okay- onto review time!

**Koko123- **Thank you so so much for the review! I'm so glad that you like the story! Here is your update! Hope you like it!

**Danwea- **Yeah, there's going to be a different chapter for each of the founders to try and get their personalities and such in, but they're going to all meet up eventually! Thank you so much for your review and I hope you enjoy chapter two!


	3. Helga Hufflepuff: Whitehall Maid

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter.

"Helga, hurry up dear, we don't have all day!"

Whitehall Manor was bristling to the brim with activities for the day that was ahead. The Mistress Whitehall herself was in charge of supervising the maids and butlers to make sure that everything ran smoothly for the upcoming party. She tapped her foot impatiently as a nervous hand flew to her already perfectly placed hair; it was so hard to find good help these days. Ever since the worker strike that had ended almost a month ago, there were still those who refused to come back to servant hood unless they were treated as equally as the masters.

Mistress Whitehall scoffed out loud at the very thought; one could imagine the chaos that would erupt from having servants on the same level as nobility. After all, why be a servant if you were given equality in everything? She continued to tap her foot as she eyed the short girl hurrying towards her, carrying an enormous vase of flowers.

"Helga, if you dare drop that it'll be a whipping for you," Mistress Whitehall said coldly, though it was an empty threat. The new girl, Helga Hufflepuff, was more than capable of carrying her own load and she needn't be told the same thing more than once, which was more than she could say of the others.

"Coming, madam," Helga said, attempting to see over the vase. "Do you want these placed on the left windowsill?"

"No, no, no, that'll never do, there's no sense of artistry over there. Place them on the right sill, there's much more creative energy over there," Mistress Whitehall said, waving her hand with annoyance. "Hurry up Helga; I have other chores for you to do."

Helga blew a strand of golden hair that was flopping uselessly in her face and rolled her eyes behind the vase. If her situation hadn't been so dire, she would have never come to this hell hole in the first place, but her family needed the money.

"Very good, ma'am," she said loudly, almost forgetting her manners. She hobbled over to the right windowsill and sat the vase down heavily; the heavy porcelain making a loud clank as it made contact. Helga winced, hoping that Lady Whitehall hadn't heard; thankfully, she hadn't.

"Center it dear!" the Mistress yelled, a judging eye on the young girl. "Don't just sit it down and walk away; it's got to look perfect."

Helga couldn't have been more than thirteen when she had knocked on the front doors of Whitehall Manor about six months ago. She had been soaked through with the water that the recent rainstorm had produced and looked pathetic in every sense of the word. Lady Whitehall had answered the door herself and had taken pity on the poor child and gave her a job in the mansion.

"Very good," Helga said again as she centered the vase. She attempted to hide a yawn before turning around and finding out what her other duties for the day would be.

"Enough dawdling," Lady Whitehall said, "it looks fine now. Go make sure that the china is all in place for this afternoon; make sure that you set up the fine white set, not that horrid looking tarnished silver; my reputation is at stake and I absolutely cannot serve anyone anything on those silver plates."

Helga nodded and curtsied before exiting the room. She was so thankful that she was done in that area; everything was a mess and orders were being tossed around without being directed at anyone, so needless to say there were about five or six people doing the same thing.

The kitchen was deserted and Helga took this opportunity to wallow in the silence that could not last for very long. She glanced up in the kitchenette and saw the poor silver plates that Lady Whitehall had been talking about; they certainly were ugly, no one could argue with that statement. Helga opened the cupboard doors and took a plate down, tracing a finger lightly over the engraving designs. Someone had slaved long and hard to make these plates and here they were- full of tarnish and a disgrace of the Whitehall family.

"If only you weren't mottled so badly," Helga murmured to herself, "silver would be a lovely on a day like today."

She had always admired silversmiths and what they were able to create with their bare hands. It was her secret dream to someday create something as beautiful as what that plate had once been. Helga heaved a sigh before placing the plate back in the cupboard. She looked around for a moment before spotting the white china that Lady Whitehall wanted. Sure, it too was beautiful, but it seemed so plain. She was not prepared to have an argument with Lady Whitehall over her choice of dining utensils though, so without a word, she grabbed the plates and carried them out to the dining room. She didn't realize though that the plate that she had placed back in the kitchenette was slowly returning to its former silver glow.

Helga hurriedly began setting the table, hoping that Mistress Whitehall wouldn't realize that she hadn't done it earlier. It always seemed that chores that the other servants were too lazy to do landed back on her, which on days like this, seemed to be just about everything. Her father had taught her to be loyal though, and even if she despised working her fingers to the bone every day, she knew that it would be an insult to his memory if she just left because she gave up.

She had left her family at the age of ten to go find work in the nearby village, but no one was hiring at the time and with a heavy heart she left her life behind. Helga realized then that she hadn't seen her mother and sister in about three years; their only sign that she was even still alive was the small amount of money that she sent to them every month. Maybe someday she would go back, but for now, she couldn't.

"Helga!" Lady Whitehall's voice pierced through the silence of the empty dining room. "I need your assistance!"

"Coming, madam," Helga called back, sitting down the last china plate.

She wiped her hands on her apron and walked out of the dining room, feeling fatigue like she had never felt before. "Oh," she said and turned back around to shut the door to the kitchen. Helga glanced inside to make sure that everything was in place but something caught her eye. The silver plate that she had taken out was shining a hue of silver that she had never seen before. It looked almost as if it had just been forged and was newly cooling.

"What?" she whispered, forgetting all about Lady Whitehall. Helga looked around to see if maybe another servant had recently been in the cupboard and had just coincidentally cleaned off the tarnish of one of the plates. "Is anyone in here?" she asked.

There was no answer. Helga made her way over to the cupboard and opened it, looking at the shining glimmer that had once been blackened with dirt. She pulled it down again and felt that it was still warm from her touch, something that she had thought was physically impossible. Her reflection stared back at her and she saw her own disbelief; what had just happened?

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**don't forget to review! Onto comment appreciation time! Oh, and out of curiosity, do you all think that these chapters are too short? Do you want them longer? Give me your opinion!

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A few drabbles from me:

**Gaili Beron: **Thank you so much for your review! Yeah, this is definitely going to get interesting! Hope you like chapter three!

**Update: **I was really hoping that it would fit together the way I was planning it to and it seems to be working out so far! Thanks for your review and I hope you enjoy chapter three!

**Heroine of the Valley: **Yeah, this story isn't going to follow canon plotlines to the "T!" It's just because I don't want to have to keep referencing Harry Potter wiki for different things on the founders and there really isn't much that is known about them in the first place. Salazar's story is going to be extremely different from the first three which you'll see when I write chapter four. Thank you for your review though and I hope that you like chapter three!

**Danwea: **Oh my goodness! I'm surprised that I didn't catch that error myself! I'm a stickler for grammar so I'm really glad you pointed that out! Thank you! The King Arthur legend is just so interesting and so much has been added to it over the year which is probably a good thing. I mean, who wants to hear about another stuffy king? Thanks for your review and here is chapter three!

**Broken Gold: **I just wanted to say that I really love your pen name! Thanks for your review though! I agree, Rowena's is really sad and Godric's is, well, just interesting. Hopefully you like Helga's because here is chapter three!


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